Riding The Wave with Burke Swanson
Inside the rhythm, surrender, and repetition of an actor that lives deeper than the stage.
Words & Photograph by Dio Anthony
Burke Swanson has a voice for the stage--and any form of public speaking for that matter. We're on a call together, a couple of weeks after meeting in person on a generously sunny day in New York. IRL he is gracious, friendly, free, and easy. On the phone, he is eloquent and exceedingly well-spoken, speaking with clarity and directness that signal intelligence and experience. Swanson makes an impression the moment he speaks, and I get the feeling that this has been the case his entire life.
He uses this very same voice eight shows a week—on stage, at the Marquis Theater, playing a young Jim Hopper in Kate Trefry's Stranger Things; The First Shadow. Swanson's Hopper is his own. Built from the text up, and alive with his personal choices. It is Blazingly his, stamped with Swanson's signature, a commanding voice, and the presence that follows it.
Swanson trained 900 miles away from the stage door at the Savannah College of Art Design in Georgia. He would make his Broadway debut just months after graduating.
By all accounts, he’s exactly where he’s meant to be: living a life not just surrounded by theater, but devoted to it. Vocal warm-ups included—and in his case, non-negotiable. His is the story of a theater kid, who’s claiming the life he shaped for himself.
Dio Anthony: What's a quintessential Burke thing that your cast mates would probably say about you?
Burke Swanson: I think we've been spending more time with each other, particularly within the intrepid trio—the Bob, Joyce, and Hopper of it all—and we really lean into the dynamics. I wouldn't necessarily say we are the exact personalities of those characters (at least, I hope I'm not a complete Hopper), but we really do balance each other out.
Juan Carlos, who plays Bob, has this centered, unapologetic gregariousness that could be perceived as naive, but to me, it's one of the most joyful expressions of life. He's excited to meet people, excited to know people—he just gets really excited about that.
Alison Jaye, who plays Joyce, has this ability to step up to that frequency, to meet Juan where he’s at, but also to remember where we are, who’s with us, and to bring them into the fold.
And then I bring in that balance underneath. With them, I keep my energy a bit lower—it's a bit broader. So usually, when we're answering these questions, it always leans a little more toward the metaphysical or spiritual side of things, rather than just the on-the-ground, “what is plainly happening.” Those dynamics are really fun to explore on stage and then see how they affect us off stage as well.
Is there a scent that feels like home to the theater?
It's strange—this cannot possibly be true [laughs], but there is a scent. I do my warmup in the back of the mezzanine, and there's always this smell of a theater. I don't know—there's this sense of breath that has been shared. There's a sense of maybe some light dust. The texture of the seats is part of it as well. It's usually this almost overly crisp air from the AC being pumped in, and yet there's heat being emanated from the lights and the people present.
So this sort of unnameable scent—I guess, besides just calling it a "theater scent"—is probably the one most present in my mind when you ask me that question.
But in terms of ones I orchestrate myself: I was recently gifted a vial of Black Spruce from my sister. The whole understanding of Black Spruce is that it's like an espresso shot without the crash. So when I’m getting ready for this show in particular, I often have that—not necessarily on myself, but usually open at my dressing room table—just to wake up the senses and the mind, so I can be ready to jump on this extremely fast-moving train.
Not only with the trio, but with our entire 34-member company on stage—and our entire small town of people backstage making this come to life every night.
I love that. Why do the pre-show warmup in the mezzanine? Versus your dressing room?
From a purely logistical standpoint, it ensures that I’m at the theater early. Because in order to do it in the back of the mezzanine before our front-of-house staff comes in to begin their work, I have to get there about two hours before the show starts. So it keeps me on time [laugh]—that’s one.
Two, for me, it’s the literal ability to practice breathing into the entire space. Sending images and dialogue across the size of my living room—or even my dressing room, which is smaller—doesn’t work the muscles in the same way they’ll be working on stage. So being in the space, being able to breathe into all quadrants of my breath—up, down, out, and through the space I’ll be performing in—is really helpful for me.
And then, on a grounding level, just being able to sit in the last row of seats in the back of the mezzanine and remember that someone will be sitting there—and that that person is just as important as anyone in the front five rows or the splash zone (which is definitely happening in this show). They're just as much a part of this experience, of telling the story with us, as anybody else.
“Those dynamics are really fun to explore on stage and then see how they affect us off stage as well.”
On a night off, which one feels more like your energy? Are you hitting a quiet café and reviewing a different script? Or are you just laying low, taking a walk around the city? What feels more like Real Burke energy?
Finding either the neighborhood I’m in or picking a different part of the city—specifically if it has green space—and meandering there. I think there’s, you know, the French term derivé — the idea of letting space and the wind sort of guide you through a place, rather than going in with a plan like, “I’ve got to hit this coffee shop, then have this lunch,” and everything else.
There’s certainly the “top of the top” for every neighborhood in New York City, as Instagram and TikTok continuously remind us—and I’m sure all of those places are great. But what’s so exciting to me is that feeling of discovery, that feeling of exploration. Even though all these streets have been walked by generations, getting that sense of curiosity about the place I live is something I would rather experience—rather than feeling like I’ve orchestrated a minute-to-minute timeline of my day.
I know you’re a theater kid through and through—what would you say was your first Broadway crush? It could be a role or a show you saw—something that made you go, “Wow, this is pretty amazing.”
Yeah. I mean, ironically enough, our directors—Justin Martin and Stephen Daldry—were the folks behind Billy Elliot. And Billy Elliot was actually one of the first Broadway shows I ever saw. I remember being a young kid who wasn’t fully conscious of the performing arts in the sense that I could articulate what was happening to me or my desire to do it. But watching kids my age—or younger—up on stage, doing it eight times a week for an international audience at the highest level was so inspiring.
I remember being so excited when I left the theater. I was in the back row, in that last seat, head rested against the back of the theater, watching these kids really dance their hearts out, sing their hearts out. That passion and vigor they brought to the performance really kickstarted me—it pushed me forward and made this a passion-based pursuit, rather than one driven by business or celebrity or anything like that.
So getting the chance to work with those folks—true masters of this craft—on this project has been such a beautiful, full-circle moment for me.
“That passion and vigor they brought to the performance really kickstarted me.”
I’m so obsessed with the fact that you just brought up Billy Elliot, because I’ve actually never seen the show itself—but I saw the film, and grew obsessed with it. I still think about it occasionally. Jamie Bell was really, really good in the film version. Perhaps I’m not speaking to enough theater people—but we don’t talk about Billy Elliot enough.
You know, I think it hit a fever pitch for people. It was such a huge show—especially for kids—because it was that moment where they had a chance to really go full out. But I think, culturally too, it hit on a very particular part of Theater Kid Energy.But I don’t know if it necessarily landed as a full critical sensation. It obviously isn’t still around like Wicked or The Lion King.
And I find that really intriguing—that so many people, when they do talk about Billy Elliot, talk about the heart, the enthusiasm, and the feelings they experienced watching it… and still feel just thinking about it. And yet, it didn’t hit from a quote-unquote financial success perspective. And I think all of those things are really intriguing.
What I really appreciate about those two directors is that they gave as much heart and soul to that project as they do with anything else—as they do with this. You know, it doesn’t matter if we’re in the Upside Down [laughs], or we’re in a small dance studio in a rural community—they are exploring with as much grace, love, and determination as anything else.
I feel like you’ll appreciate this question. Do you have a favorite line that you’ve delivered so far? Or — well, two questions: first, is there a line you haven’t been able to say on stage that you kind of wish you could?
Oh my goodness. Oh, geez. There was a line that was cut from our adaptation—or our retelling, I suppose—of The Rose Tattoo, which I did back in 2019 at the Roundabout Theatre with Trip Cullman. Marisa Tomei was starring in it.
There’s a conversation in Act Three, Scene Two, between Jack and Rosa. It’s this moment where we’re left, at the end of the show, wondering if they’ll be together. The full line got cut down due to time, but to me, it really expressed the entirety of their relationship.
And it comes down to—I just pulled it up—Rosa actually says it: No, but I think it could just happen once. And if it don’t happen that time, it never can later. They face each other sadly and quietly. She continues: “You don’t need to be very old to understand how it works out. One time. One time. Only once. It could be God to remember. Other times, yes, they’d be something… but only once. God to remember. I’m sorry to you—it didn’t mean that much.”
And there’s just something about that classic tragedy of Tennessee Williams, that’s so beautifully captured in that moment. Within a story that is one of his few true expressions of love—and happiness, the joy of love—I mean, I still have that line dog-eared in my script. It’s just… it’s something that I feel really, really captures that show in a beautiful way. It would’ve been fantastic to be able to hear that line every single night—in its entirety.
The power of the written word, I think it’s so special. I feel like when you’re on stage and you’re saying something, there’s a feeling beyond just what you're evoking in the audience. There’s also the feeling you experience as the actor, saying those lines—day in and day out, show in and show out.
The second part of that question is—is there a line that you’ve delivered so far that still gives you chills, or makes you laugh? One you’re excited to say every night?
I think sometimes the best writing isn’t able to be encapsulated in one line. Like, Tennessee Williams is clearly, you know, well regarded as a master of the craft, right? So there are plenty of lines in that scene that evoke that. But when I think about the show we’re doing right now —Stranger Things—I think about that diner scene at the end of the show between Joyce and Hopper, and the sort of epilogue of it all. I think about a very, very short moment within a scene—what we call the crime scene—within The First Shadow, where Hopper has a final altercation with his father.
These moments are so activated. They’re so amped with tension, with release, with confrontation—and the ways in which they release are always surprising to me.
We’ve done the show over 50 times now—we’ll have done it over 60, 70 times by the time this article comes out—and we’ll continue to do it. And every single night, those moments still surprise me. You know, Alison and I have been sort of lamenting, we check in after that final scene—and she was telling me the other day, “There will come a time when there will be a last time that we say those lines together.”
And the weight of that, to me, when it’s paired with unbelievable direction and a committed community through ensemble—I mean, everybody in this cast is really giving their all—it breathes life into a moment. That means folks who aren’t even in that scene are pushing us toward that moment.
Louis McCartney, who is walking through all of those memories, holding down the fort after basically having a panic attack live on stage for two and a half hours—and still committing to this text, still exploring and having fun within it. All of that, when you have scenes that set that up, it doesn’t really matter if it’s quote-unquote good or bad at that point—it’s just about being washed over by it. And scenes like that are exciting every single time, because it’s a negotiation with my body to truly fall back off the cliff and into the water and let it be. And anything that makes that easier, or makes that jump the only choice, to me, is some of the most exciting work to do. And it’s a real testament to our writer, Kate Trefry, who has spent hours trying to craft this perfectly—not only for the Stranger Things fans, but for us, as the people who will be doing it.
I love this idea you just brought up—about how there will be one last time that you say those lines to each other. Because there’s this trend on social media going around right now that reminds you of the idea that there’s always been a last time for everything—and we don’t always know what that last time is. The last time you hung out with your friends, the last time you saw someone—little things like that. But to know when the last time of something will be—holds much more weight.
There's so much to talk about when you’re playing a character that people already know. And you and I spoke about this a little bit in person—this is something completely different for so many reasons. I’m wondering if there was an emotional tone, or something physical, that you added to the character to really make him yours. Something that was a choice you made—where you thought, I think he moves this way, or I think he’s feeling this, and this is helped you build your version of Jim Hopper.
Yeah. I think this wasn’t necessarily fully conscious to me in the beginning, as I was trying to explore the character. But our writer, Kate Trefry, sort of spotted it and told me, after we had started putting it on its feet, what was going on. She was complimenting me on my willingness to live within the inherent bravado of someone who believes they are stronger, cooler, more secure than they actually are.
And I think that, you know, there’s something about Hopper, to me, that is constantly shifting. He’s constantly trying to get himself into his body, sort of like a dog gearing up for a fight that might come.
There’s that hunched-shoulders, scoffed, leering-eyes energy—eyes that never linger on anything, so as not to signal that you have any attachments. It’s not just about being a loner—it’s about identifying as one, needing to be one. Because if not, then you’d have to admit that you care, that you have community, that there’s something to lose. And I think the show—not only the TV show, but The First Shadow in particular—is Hopper’s first real instance of seeing that maybe that’s not the best, most sustainable way forward.
So Hopper is constantly, to him, being affronted by the simple passion, love, and intelligence of Bob, and the sort of equally belligerent energy of Joyce—striving to get what she needs. And it shocks him, constantly, out of his comfort zone. As we know from the TV show—it’s what he needs in order to experience the love he’s so desperate for.
Another thing—I feel like with every good role, or really any role, there's usually something an actor walks away with off set or off stage. For someone like you, you seem so in tune with the emotions of the character, really taking it all in.
Is there something you've learned from this character that has surprised you? Sometimes I think it can feel a little silly to get too deep into character work—because at the end of the day, it is a job—but I also believe actors often learn something from the people they play, whether they mean to or not.
You're suspending belief in your own life, especially in a show like this, where there's so much energy and passion—both within the characters and the people playing them. Have you pinpointed what that’s been for you? What the lesson has been? I know you're still in it, but I’m curious about that.
Yeah, I mean, it would be really beautiful to check back in at the end of this process and see how it changes.Because I don’t think I’ll ever fully comprehend how this character has truly touched me. I mean, there’s so much risk with a character like this—someone currently being played by someone else, someone who’s made it iconic. There’s the risk of it becoming an imitation. There’s the risk of reducing him to just the comedic relief in the show. You know, the trio has that kind of Scooby-Doo energy within the otherwise Chernobyl-like tone of the show. But I think—really as a testament to the process and to the people I get to work with every night—it’s a constant reminder of the intimacy, the passion, and the compassion happening within the character.
I think for me—just the other night—I walked off stage and found myself sincerely weeping after that final scene with Alison. She and I hugged, and in that moment, I just said, “I'm so sorry for him.” I’m just so sorry that’s where he’s at right now. But it also gives me so much hope to know he has all the pieces right there within his grasp—and that he will pick them up at some point. I don’t get to experience that moment through this character, not in this story. But there will come a time when he’ll be able to gather those pieces and put them to use. And for me, that takeaway is—much like the idea of overthinking character work or turning it into a heady, logical experience—acting and performing is really about being present. It’s about stepping in and choosing to mean it. There’s something about knowing: I don’t have to have all the tools, or all the answers, or pull every possible string to create a life that’s joyful or fulfilled. But by living it—by choosing to keep moving forward—I will find it. Eventually.
“acting and performing is really about being present. It’s about stepping in and choosing to mean it.”
You speak about theater in such a visceral way—it’s really nice to hear. What’s been the most unexpectedly soft moment you’ve had with a fan in this role, if any?
We have some really passionate fans in the Stranger Things universe who are genuinely excited to share that excitement. It’s been really lovely to go to the stage door and meet people who are clearly big fans of the show—people who have strong opinions about what would make this a good addition to the story. And for them to walk away still excited, if not more excited after seeing our show—that’s really beautiful.
But I think, for me, the most surprising element has been the number of people who’ve come to see our show without knowing anything about Stranger Things—people who just identify as theater people. And when those folks come and say, “Oh my gosh, I thought it was just going to be massive special effects”—*which are incredible, by the way; they won a special Tony for a reason—they’re very much part of our show… but when those same people walk away saying things like, “I couldn’t stop watching the security guard on the left,” or “I was so drawn to that one student in this scene,” or even, *“God forbid, I chose to come to the show”—*and then we find out someone’s now come 20 times? That’s the kind of thing that really surprises and moves me.
“acting and performing is really about being present. It’s about stepping in and choosing to mean it.”
[Continued] You know, they’re coming back because there’s more to be found. And there is more to be found—because it’s more than just explosions on stage. It’s a story being explored, like any other play. It might not look or sound like English at Roundabout. It might not look or sound like John Proctor is the Villain or Buena Vista Social Club—but it’s still the same art form, trying to connect people through a shared experience. It’s just happening at a theater-maximalist level. And in that way, it’s really marrying everything that TV and film do so well—pace, scale, storytelling—but doing it with the honesty and sincerity that theater has always delivered.
So, for me, it’s been really lovely to hear that people are having a full, 4D experience—not just walking away saying, “Oh, we saw a Demogorgon on stage,” [laugh] but realizing there’s real emotional depth here. There’s that moment where you realize: some people might not be ready for the heart of this story. They might not be ready to understand what Henry is going through—or what Louis McCartney, as a human being, is going through. They’re used to seeing it on a screen, where it lives in this kind of myopia. But that’s a real person on stage, choosing to step into that story every night. And it’s such a testament to Louis—especially seeing him nominated. I mean, look at who he was nominated alongside. What a celebration of theater this year. And to know that people couldn’t deny that this 20-something, giving his all every single day in his Broadway debut, deserves to stand shoulder to shoulder with those titans—that’s just incredible.
Do you have a superstition about performing one that you kind of believe in?
I think the safe answer is: I believe in all the ones we collectively believe in. Because there’s an energy in the space, right? There are moments—like whistling, for example—which is traditionally not supposed to happen in a theater. Sometimes someone whistles and it’s fine, but then there are those other times when someone whistles and everyone turns their head. Everyone collectively knows: “Hey, look out for that.”
But for me, I think there’s a really beautiful process—off stage, and sometimes on stage—that’s about checking in and checking out. Intimacy by Design talks a lot about this, and I think it's so valuable. We do it in sports. We do it in business. There’s a handshake before the game. There’s a team chant, or we clap hands after a hockey match—it’s that moment of intimacy, of acknowledging the shared experience. And in theater, it’s the same.
Before the show, everyone’s running around trying to connect with as many people as possible—saying, “Hey, I’ve got your back,” or “Let’s have a great show,” or “Let’s have some fun.” And then at the end, making sure to do that again. To acknowledge: Hey, we all collectively gave a part of ourselves tonight to help tell this story.
Is there one part of the show that’s proven to be the hardest for you every night?
I think the character lives in a space where it’s very easy for him to be just comedic relief—like we were just talking about. And I think the shift from that into a place of real emotional grounding can feel very intense, and for me, it definitely felt very quick. There wasn’t a lot of time to naturally step into that space. During rehearsals, tech, and a lot of the preview performances, I felt like I really had to force myself—shunt myself—into that emotional place just to justify what was about to come out.
And I think what’s been the hardest part of this role, over time, has been learning that classic mantra: do less. Trust that it’s there. Just walk on stage, say the line, and really connect to the words—and to the people you’re on stage with. Be active in it. Don’t pull back. Don’t stop the train. The words were written for a reason. Ride the wave. In our show, there’s a scene we call “the Mexico scene,” which happens at the top of Act Two. There’s a certain emotional intensity that comes through in that scene, alongside Joyce.
And then in another one we call “the crime scene”—it’s a really short moment, with a lot happening around it. The scene itself almost isn’t even the focus. But if I’m not fully there, emotionally, it doesn’t help propel us toward the climax of the story. What’s been fascinating is that there’s a piece of music that starts maybe three to five minutes before I enter, and now, having ridden this wave so many times, my body knows the cycle. When I hear that music, I can feel the snot start to build in my nose, tears start welling in my eyes—without me doing a thing. So the hardest part actually isn’t the physical expression. It’s the mental surrender—accepting that not only can it happen, but it will, and that I’ll come out the other side. So, really, the hardest part has been getting out of my own way.
On that note—what’s your go-to post-show decompression move?
I think a lot of it is just flexibility. I mean, there's definitely a lot of things that sometimes work and sometimes are needed more than others. I don't necessarily do the stage door every single night. I don't really want to go to the stage door if I'm not in a place where I can be the most positive, receptive individual that I can be. Because I don't want to taint the experience of those folks who just gave a lot of time, money, and logistics in order to see our show and be present with our show.
And so I want that moment to be celebratory. So sometimes I'll choose not to go to the stage door.But also it's like taking a shower. I like to take a shower post-show just so that I have time to breathe, do a full vocal cool-down, eat a snack, and actually just sit in my room.
I personally have a really hard time rushing out of my costume, rushing out of my dressing room. I'm usually one of the last people to leave the theater because I like to take my time and honor what we just did before stepping into saying hi to folks, or talking about the show, or moving into the unofficial second part of the job. I like to honor the spiritual expression that just happened by just really taking my time—however that manifests.
What’s your number one theater kid red flag that you fully own?
[Laughs] I think it's really just enthusiasm. I think it's just passion. I mean, people call it “theater kids,” people call them nerds—you know, what it really is, is just people who are really passionate about what they love and are so passionate that they're unwilling to hide it. And I think that it manifests in many different ways.
I would say that, like, classic “theater kid energy,” maybe I'm not emblematic of—but that certainly is not what it is all the time. There are aspects of this that make me so excited. I mean, we've been on this call now for, you know, like 40 minutes and we're just talking about theater right now [laughs]. That is a sign of my theater kid energy coming out. It's something that I'm passionate about, something that I love. It's something that I think is a part of film and TV as well, and there are aspects of that that I'm excited to continue exploring. It's really just community and ensemble and collaboration and all those—what could be very cliché things within the theater community—but to me, are some of the most sincere expressions of our art form.
This interview has been edited and condensed
